BULMA AND HER DRAGON
by elenahedgehog
Summary: LOVE CAN BE SWEET, CAN BE PASSION... OR CAN BE REALLY HOOOORNYYY
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of this comics ore novels , which this fanfic was based…. I just loved them and they screamed vegeta and Bulma every way… enjoy it-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/

_Love is something weird to analyze... but powerful indeed... and sometimes it gets you... even if you're not your self... or not even human..._

**PROLOGE**

A long time ago a young boy... not very handsome, not very brilliant and not very strong or rich... was looking for something that every boy or man wanted... to get laid... so he got himself to the big city... an to his bad luck he wasn't that good looking... but he meet a really hotty and tough... ****its my lucky day*** haw wrong he was... but how wrong... AAAAHHHHHHH...

Chapter One

Once upon a time…

Thus begins all good fairy stories—with a request to the reader. An invitation to travel to faraway places and faraway times, or fantastic worlds peopled with equally unlikely characters. All created in the mind by the words between the covers.

This story begins with "_Once upon a time_…" and is followed by the next most-anticipated phrase, "_there was a beautiful princess…_" unfortunately, _this _particular princess, although beautiful right from the moment of her birth, wasn't exactly welcomed by her father the King. "What? _Another _damn girl?" said the king "Yes, Sire." His Seneschal looked apologetic. "How many does that make now?" "Uh…this one's the thirteenth, Your Majesty." "_Shit_." The King was not known for his aristocratic turn of phrase when irritated. It was a constant trial to the Queen, who was forever trying to get him to watch his mouth.

He turned to his aide. "Don't suppose we can drown this one, can we?" The man looked shocked. "Absolutely _not_, Sire." "_Fuck_." To give him his due, he did glance around to make sure the Queen wasn't within earshot, although having just given birth that seemed unlikely. "Well, _do _something with her, man. Can't have an unlucky omen like that around upsetting the delicate balance of things. Get rid of her. Banish her. Feed her to those damn elves in the valley." He stalked out of his Royal Chambers, muttering curses aimed at the whole female gender and particularly his wife's inability to conceive anything other than women.

At the door he paused. "I know." He snapped his fingers and two servants came running. The King frowned. "No idiots. I wasn't calling you, I was just getting a brilliant idea." Bowing low, the servants retreated, chastened by their inability to distinguish summoning snaps of their King's fingers from "brilliant idea" snaps. "Sire?" The Seneschal quirked an eyebrow. "You had a suggestion?" "Yep." He looked smug. "Give her to that damn _dragon_." The Seneschal, being a man of great wisdom, who rather liked his head just where it was, knew better than to disobey his Sire when he was in this sort of mood. So, later that day, he whisked the new babe from the sleeping Queen's quarters and unceremoniously dumped her on a distant rampart of the castle, far away from where everybody else resided.

In another part of the castle******

She vanished, leaving Vegeta with what was now a definite snout buried in the dust of the road. He staggered to his feet—all _four _of them—and blinked. Then he opened his mouth, spat—and belched fire. Oh_fucking shit _. His mother's cooking wasn't that great, but it had never had this effect on him. He stumbled through the trees to a pond and leaned over it to catch sight of his reflection. Yep. It was all there. Long nose, round open nostrils, big eyes, large ears, a smattering of horns up the center of his face and rather large pointed teeth.

Vegeta considered himself, turning his head this way and that. Well, it could be worse. He thought he made rather an impressive dragon on the whole. His pimples were gone, he certainly didn't have to worry about bad breath and maybe there was a female dragon out there who wouldn't turn away in disgust. Now, for those of you who are wondering why Vegeta isn't more upset about being turned into a dragon, it certainly helps to remember what it's like to be a teenager. Being a dragon sometimes seems like an acceptable alternative.

Vegeta quickly mastered the use of his wings and flew off to join the small group of dragons who remained in residence at the castle. They did their best not to snicker. "Well, lad, you _have _been unlucky, haven't you?"_(This was said in dragon-speak, which—for the purposes of translation—is being written as English in this story.) _An older dragon was smirking at him. "You'll be pleased to know our lives are pretty quiet though, as a rule. Sleep, eat a yog-boar now and again, roar as necessary and then sleep some more."

"What about—er—girl dragons?" Vegeta looked hopefully at the elder creature who clutched his sides, curled his wings and chuckled heartily. "Well, two problems with that, lad. First off, dragons aren't sexually active until they reach about a hundred and two—and second…doesn't do us no good anyway, because there _aren't _any 'round here." Thus Vegeta the Unlucky, a human spirit bewitched into the form of a dragon, spent the next decades learning to correctly belch fire, pick yog-boar bones out of his teeth and occasionally do a little formation flying.

The one thing he _didn't _get was sex. Even masturbation was impossible, since his sharp claws were not the best tools in the world for that sort of thing, and the one time he'd managed to do it without castrating himself, he'd orgasmed and belched fire at the same time. The farmer whose barn he'd incinerated wasn't happy about it, even though the resulting fountain of dragon-delight had extinguished the flames. Morosely, Vegeta came to accept his sad lot. His memories of being a healthy human lad faded into vague impressions of long-ago dreams and his life shifted then settled into reptilian paths. He was just one _non _-fucking, unlucky dragon.

And then he met Bulma. The Thirteenth Princess… Upon finding the gurgling bundle just outside his roost, Vegeta wrinkled his nose. It smelled funny, and didn't look very much like a snack worth getting up from his nap for. But it moved, thus it might well be worth investigating. Something made him extra cautious with his huge bulk as he circled the blanket. There was a tiny thing inside—a wriggling thing—and Vegeta curiously nosed the coverings aside.

He blinked as a little body came into view and backed away as limbs waved and a toothless mouth mewled at him. Eeeeuuuuwwww.A baby _human_. His tongue emerged in distaste, one of the habits he'd developed when he'd discovered that humans didn't care too much for a rather large forked and moist appendage waved threateningly in their direction. They tended to walk backwards in a hurry, which was fine by him. But then something odd happened. The tiny critter reached out a little hand and grasped the tip of his tongue, curling minute fingers around it and holding tight.

Vegeta froze as something that felt distinctly like—_affection_—curled deep inside his body. A pang of protectiveness darted up his third horn and made his ears ache. The little creature still held his tongue but shivered, so he carefully took one claw and recovered it with the soft blanket. Then, ever so gently, he curled his body around the entire kit and caboodle, cradling it against the sharp winds that racked the old stone walls.

"Hello little thing." Vegeta spoke the words in his head of course, since firstly dragons couldn't speak the human language and secondly_it _was hanging on to his tongue. "Goo goo ga ga." He heard the sound in his head quite clearly. Well now, _this _was unique. Vegeta gently eased his tongue from the vise-like grip of the tiny human and considered the implications. It would appear that there was some kind of communication possible, although God knew what language was being spoken.

He was about to try another experiment—something along the lines of "take me to your leader"—when a female bustled out onto the flagstones, muttering fiercely. "Oh _there _you are. Goodness gracious, the Queen would have the King's balls strung up from the turret if she knew what he'd gone and done." She shouldered her way past Vegeta's coiled body and retrieved the blanket. He snorted, thus getting her attention with a whiff of hot air up her skirt.

"Now you stop that, you nasty old dragon. This is a _princess_. Just because the King doesn't want her around don't mean that you can have her for afternoon tea, you know." She shook an admonishing finger at Vegeta. "He may have given her to you, but you'll not see her for years an' years. She's got to go to Princess School along with the other ones, no matter what her father says." The "princess" emitted a sound that resembled a small mud geyser blobbing up ooze and the woman held her nose.

"Ooof. They should've called you Stinky instead of Bulma." She held her away from her body. "Now wave bye-bye to the nice dragon, sweetie. I reckon he'll be around when you get back and for a good many years after that too." "Bye-bye, little Bulma. _Bye-bye _." Vegeta flapped one ear, then caught himself and tried to look ferocious. "Goo goo_gaaaaaa _…" The wail followed the two females as they departed down the staircase and back to the human residence within the castle leaving Vegeta alone.

And, for the first time in one hundred and four years, _lonely_. From that day on, Vegeta felt a little empty spot someplace in between his sixteenth and seventeenth ribs. He put it down to indigestion, cut back on the yog-boars and began a regular flying program. He developed an interesting maneuver all his own that involved a swoop combined with a roll and followed by quite a sharp dive.

The other dragons were impressed in spite of themselves and began calling him "Ace", which he liked much better than "Unlucky". A villager, awed by his aerial skills, wove him a rather long white silk scarf to wrap around his neck while flying. It was flamboyant but Vegeta was quite proud of it, and did an extra swoop along with a wing dip over the villager's hut, trailing the fringed ends of the scarf along with him. A nice gesture, but one that scared the chickens so much they didn't lay any eggs for a week. He earned no points with the villager's wife for that little episode.

So for the next few years, Vegeta worked hard at his dragon skills, noting the firm body that flexed beneath his rather attractive blue scales, and the horns along his snout—fully developed now as Vegeta approached his prime. And his sexual maturity. Of course, that happened several years later than expected, this being Vegeta who never did anything—including develop—according to the rules. But finally, he rested in the sunshine on the battlements of the castle and puffed out his chest, secure in the knowledge that when it came to dragons, he could finally hold his own.

And he began to dream. Not wet dreams, because God forbid a dragon should have a wet dream. Mass drownings would most probably have resulted, and the idea was that dragons should _protect _the humans they lived with, not smother them with nocturnal emissions. No, these were dreams of a rather strange nature, simple at first, involving annoying songs that stuck in Vegeta's head and revolved around the alphabet, counting and fingers and toes.

By themselves, they were nothing out of the ordinary—even though dragons didn't actually possess fingers and toes. But when they began to include scenes of little girls playing games, Vegeta started to get a bit worried. Was he bisexual? Was he a gay dragon? _Were _there such things as gay dragons? Was he showing early signs of perversion? He was blue, not rainbow-colored, had no urge to go screw any of the other guy dragons, so he doubted they resulted from a conflict in his sexuality. Occasionally they were frightening. A closet with something very nasty in it figured largely in his dreams for several weeks. Then there was a party, presents, and the unpleasant sensation of barfing up some sort of cake.

He woke from that one with a headache, a really bad taste in his mouth—which, for a creature that regularly belched fire was unusual—and a strong desire for a couple of lakes worth of fresh water. Finally, when one restless night he found himself tossing and turning and constantly dressing and undressing a small doll, he awoke knowing that enough was_enough_. It was time to seek counsel from the eldest and wisest dragon of them all—Dandelion.

Vegeta wasn't thrilled at the thought, since Dandelion—so called because of a fluffy tuft of hair that flew off his head at regular intervals—was renowned as having the worst temper in the Kingdom. With the possible exception of the King after the Queen birthed yet _another _daughter. But, being a desperate dragon with some deep-seated fears about his own sexual identity, Vegeta girded his loins—or at least firmed up his sYamchaach muscles—and headed out to the Shadowed Vale where Dandelion lived a solitary existence. The stench of sulphur greeted him about five miles downwind, thus Dandelion was pretty easy to locate.

Vegeta simply followed the smell. "Er…'scuse me?" He landed awkwardly on a couple of rocks and stumbled a little before righting himself. "Sir? Mr. Dandelion?" The massive creature raised his head from the tangled coil of body and wings, to open one eye lazily. "What?" Not an auspicious beginning, but Vegeta was a dragon on a mission. "I need to consult with you." "Take a number." Dandelion lowered his head and apparently went back to sleep. "There aren't any." Vegeta looked around. "Numbers, I mean. There isn't anybody else here, actually." "You don't say." Dandelion yawned. "Well in that case, speak your piece. And make it quick. It's time for my nap." Vegeta held his tongue and did not point out that it appeared _any _time was time for the old dragon's nap.

No point in pissing off somebody one was about to ask for help. "Well, you see, it's like this…" He settled his tail more comfortably and kicked the sharper of the rocks out from under his ass where it was digging into his delicate underbelly. By the time he'd finished his recital—telling Dandelion all about the dreams—the old dragon had both eyes open and was staring at Vegeta in a rather unnerving way. "Well, I'll be damned." That pronouncement was followed by a small belch of smoke. "Sorry." Dandelion waved a foot in front of his mouth. "Shouldn't have had that yog-boar chili last night." He unfurled his body and farted thunderously. "See what I mean?" Vegeta blinked the tears away from his eyes as several birds, who unfortunately happened to be flying past at the same time as Dandelion's gut released its gas, dropped from the skies like feathered hailstones.

"Er, yes." "Well. Seems you've got a problem here, huh?" Dandelion idly scratched his tuft of hair, sending bits of it in showers around his shoulders. "Let me think a bit." Thinkinglooked a lot like_napping _to Vegeta's untutored eyes, but after about an hour or so of "thinking", Dandelion lifted his head once more and focused blearily on Vegeta. "You know what this is, then, don't you?" Vegeta blinked. "Er…no. As a matter of fact, I don't. That's why I came to you, oh wise one." Dandelion wrinkled his already-wrinkled nose. "You can cut out the ass-kissing shit. I gave up being impressed with that crap a long time ago." "Um…okay." Would this darned creature _ever _get to the point? "To get to the point…" Well thank the gods for that at least…

"You've got a case of humanoid-reptilian occipital transference." He paused. "Or else you're a raving pervert with poorly repressed homosexual tendencies." Vegeta swallowed. "I think I prefer the former." He thought for a minute. "What _is _that anyway?" Dandelion grinned, showing several rather yellowed teeth. "You've got a mind link with a princess, asshole." "Huh? What's a princess's asshole got to do with it?" The old dragon sighed and scratched at his balls inside his pouch.

"I heard tell that many generations ago, you know—like back before time and stuff—dragons were bonded to humans. For each dragon, there was one special human with whom they could communicate." "_Really_?" Vegeta's eyes opened wide. "No, I'm making this shit up as I go along." Dandelion huffed a smoke ring from one nostril. "Of _course_, you fucking _twit_. You didn't come all this way for _fun_, did you?" Vegeta shut his mouth and shook his head. "So listen up. Someplace there's a human you've got a mind link with. You're getting into its dreams. Sounds like they're girly dreams, so I figure it's gotta be a female. And the odds are pretty good it's a princess. This is a frickin' _fairy tale _ya know." He sighed. "Lucky you. I wouldn't say no to a bit of tart in _my _dreams now and again…" Vegeta cleared his throat.

"So what do I do about it?" "Do?" Dandelion shook his head, dislodging more hair. "There's nothing you _can _do. You're stuck with her. You gotta protect her, do what she says, go where she goes, carry her on your back if she wants…" He snickered. "Kind of like being married except without the sex." Vegeta rolled his eyes. "Oh _swell_." He was never going to get laid at this rate, nor was he ever going to find his freedom. "So I'm destined for a life as a fire-breathing puppy for some dipshit female with delusions of grandeur who does nothing but practice a royal wave of her hand." "Don't take it hard, lad." Dandelion looked sympathetic.

"It's a gift. A rare gift. Hasn't happened in…" He counted silently, ran out of claws, then shrugged. "Well, it hasn't happened in a long time." A wise eye raked over Vegeta. "Gotta be a reason for it." Vegeta sighed. "You know something, old dude? I'm pretty fucking sick of all this mystical magic and legend shit. If I could've kept my dick in my britches I'd still be there now, herding cows or something, instead of becoming a frickin' dragon." Dandelion's eyebrows rose. "Sounds like you fucked with a fairy, kid." Vegeta wrinkled his nostrils. "How did you guess? Of course, I didn't _tell _you that or it nullifies clause seventeen in the spell or something." Vegeta's voice was morose.

"All I wanted was a bit of nookie, you know?" "It comes with a high price, lad. Sometimes too high a price." Dandelion stretched, a bone-cracking reach of claws and tail. "Like I said, there's gotta be a reason for it. Maybe it'll help you get your freedom back. Sure as shit you weren't meant to be a dragon." Vegeta bridled at that, flexing his muscles. "You don't think so? Personally, I figure I'm doing okay at it." The older dragon chuckled. "Yeah. If you want your bod all over some romance novel cover." "What's wrong with that?" Vegeta was affronted.

"Nothin'. Nothin' at all. But you're a _real _dragon, boy. Not a _cover model _for a dragon._They _never get the heroine, do they? Usually all they get for their hard work is a sword up the ass from some overbearing schmuck in a tin suit with a grudge against dragons who thinks he's gonna get into the pants of the heroine by slaying one." Dandelion settled down once more. "Look, if I were you, I wouldn't worry too much about this whole linking thing. Sounds like you got a few years yet before anything too exciting is gonna happen since you're still at the naked doll stage. Let it go for a bit and see where you end up." He snuffled a little.

"Nothing gained by rushing into anything." Vegeta realized that Dandelion probably hadn't rushed into anything for several centuries, so he filed this piece of wisdom under "_yeah right_". Disconsolate, Vegeta headed home. He had received assurances that he wasn't a crazily mixed-up sexual pervert, which certainly went into the "plus" column. In addition, he'd apparently developed a link with a human—something that hadn't happened in untold ages. Another thing for the "plus" column. It didn't, however, involve the chance of meeting any female dragons and getting laid. A large entry into the "minus" column. And it didn't—at the moment anyway—seem to exhibit any signs of breaking the spell cast upon him.

Which pretty much sent the "minus" column into overload and Vegeta's spirits plummeting into his boots. Or where he would have been wearing boots if he wasn't a dragon. Tiredly, he flew back to his roost and moped in the familiarity of his own nest. Life, not to put too fine a point on it, sucked. He was destined to be at the beck and call of some royal no-brainer who played with dolls. He'd never regain his human form, and—worst of all—he'd never get any decent sex to speak of. With this miserable conclusion uppermost in his mind, Vegeta dozed off. Only to dream again, but this time not of dolls or birthday parties. This time, he dreamed of _Princess School _.

5


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of this comics ore novels , which this fanfic was based…. I just loved them and they screamed vegeta and Bulma every way… enjoy it-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/

Chapter Two

The real skinny about Princess School… "_Bulma_! The point of this exercise is to lift your skirts so that you don't trip, not treat the entire world to the sight of your twat. Try for a little decorum, will you?" Sure, wart face. At eighteen, Bulma was forced to admit that she was a bloody failure in most of the formal "Princess" classes. Truth was, she hated every _fucking _one of 'em. She'd pulled a D+ in _Curtseying_, barely passing by the skin of her teeth and with knees that were bruised continually during finals week. _Waving and Smiling _(_from moving carriages and stationary balconies—practical demonstration required_) hadn't gone much better, but she'd managed a B minus because the instructor had liked her hair and she'd shared her shampoo tips.

But _this _course, _Swanning and Swooping Around in Formal Couture _, might well be beyond her. For the sad truth was that Princess Bulma, the thirteenth daughter of the King, was a tomboy at heart and would rather be out in the fields practicing with a sword or her archery set. The one she'd conned off a stable lad by flashing him a quick glimpse of her budding breasts. Said breasts did, occasionally, get in the way of her shooting skills, especially since they seemed to be expanding on a daily basis, but screw it. She'd rather shoot a target than have cleavage any day. She ignored them. Or managed to, most of the time.

Of course, when they were thrust up under her nose and partially revealed by a monstrosity of a gown, things looked a little different. She couldn't see her toes for a start, and how the fucking hell she was supposed to elegantly slither around without tripping when _those things _were protruding front and center, she had no clue. However, she wasn't above using them to get what she wanted—hence the bow and arrows and a large grin on the face of the stable boy.

Thoughtfully she traipsed up and down the long schoolroom, shoving the yells of the teacher into the dark recesses of her mind. Recently, she'd begun having—_feelings_. Odd feelings, that got stronger and odder when she was laced into gowns like this with her tits held firmly from beneath by boning and stiff fabric. She found she rather liked the sensation of something rubbing her nipples. It made her feel—funny—down between her legs. She made a mental note to check back with the stable boy. She wanted her sword sharpened, and perhaps he could provide both the whetstone and a couple of answers to some questions she had.

Thankfully, she'd aced her educational courses, and gotten a free time block for herself when everybody else was slaving over geometry. That, she liked. Also literature. She'd devoured all the books she'd been given, simply complaining that there weren't enough that dealt with important stuff. Like sex. Because, as is the way with all girls—princesses or not—the male of the species was starting to occupy more and more of her thoughts. Research, thought Bulma to herself. _Any scholar worthy of the name does research_. Time to pay a visit to the stables.

Unlacing the detested gown, Bulma slipped into breeches and a tunic, grabbed her sword and strode the half-mile over the school grounds to the stables. She did not take ladylike steps, of course, nor did she wave to anybody she passed. Nope, this was a Princess on a mission. She was going to do some sex research and get her sword sharpened at the same time. As she'd hoped, Yamcha the stable lad was hard at work. He stopped shoveling manure when he saw her come in and just got _hard_. Grinning, Bulma stared at his crotch. "Gonna let me see _that_, then?" She nodded at the bulge.

He thrust his hips forward, emphasizing it. "Dunno. What you gonna let me see?" This was, of course, _outrageous_, both in content and innuendo. Bulma was a princess of the realm and Yamcha a mere stable hand. But boys will be boys, and Yamcha—for all his horny nature—had never ratted her out. "You can see my tits again if you want." Yamcha thought about this. "I want to see your pussy too." "Hmm. You'll have to sharpen my sword as well if you want that, or else no deal." It should be noted that the course _Negotiating Treaties with Foreign Powers _had been a source of huge enjoyment to Bulma and was one of the ones she'd managed to achieve straight As in.

"I dunno about that. Someone might need the whetstone. I'll have to clean it afterwards." Yamcha stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Okay." Bulma tipped her head to one side. "Here's the deal. You can see my tits _and _my pussy. You get to _touch _my tits. I get to see your—_thing_—and you sharpen my sword afterward. How's that?" Yamcha took about five seconds to decide, then spat in his hand and held it out. "Done." Bulma spat in hers and they solemnly shook hands on the deal. "Now wash that off before you touch me, okay? I can't afford muddy streaks on my tits when I bathe tonight." "'Kay." Yamcha did as he was bid.

Unself-consciously, Bulma stripped off her tunic and bared her breasts as Yamcha wiped his hands on a cloth. "You might want to wipe your mouth too, Yamcha." She giggled at him. "You're drooling." Yamcha swallowed and nodded at her breeches. "Now them." "You first." Ever the negotiator, Bulma wasn't going to be done out of her side of the deal. Her jaw dropped as Yamcha opened his pants and she saw his—thing—for the first time. Hard and red, it wobbled at her, thrusting from a dark nest of curling hair.

Just beneath she could make out a sort of sac arrangement, and she dredged up the minimal information she'd unearthed in an old biology text book. His balls! Good God. "So you like my cock?" Yamcha stroked it lovingly for a moment or two. "Uh, yeah. Nice cock, Yamcha. Very nice indeed." She stared, entranced as the tiny eye at the tip glittered with a drop of moisture. "Now you." Yamcha stood, arms akimbo, cock erect, waiting for his own part of the bargain.

"Uh…sure." Without hesitation Bulma—a princess of her word—dropped her britches and stood, virtually naked, in front of Yamcha. Who gaped. "_Fucking sheeeit_." His eyes bugged wide and almost absently he reached downwards for his cock. "Um…aren't you going to touch my tits?" Bulma found herself aching in strange places, mostly in the area that Yamcha was staring at with an almost unnerving intensity. "Huh?" Yamcha was clearly involved with something now, something personal that involved the sight of her pussy, his cock and his hand.

Bulma sighed. "My _tits_, you dork. You were supposed to touch my _tits _…" Strange sensations welled up inside her as she considered the idea of his hands on her breasts. Her nipples beaded into nubs and moisture began to flow over her thighs. Without giving it much thought, she parted her legs to let it dry. Yamcha moaned as he played with his cock, vague eyes glued now to her pussy. "Well, this is lots of fun and_not real helpful, asshole _…" He grunted, oblivious to anything but her body. And then the oddest thing happened. Before Bulma's fascinated gaze Yamcha's face contorted, his hand spasmed around his cock and it…it…sort of_erupted_.

Jets of white stuff spurted from the end and Yamcha coughed out an odd sound, something like a cross between a sob and a groan. Then his cock withered and softened back into not much of anything at all. "Well, I'll be damned." Bulma stared at what was now nothing more than a small set of male genitals. "So that's what it's all about." She looked at Yamcha who had the grace to look embarrassed. "I'll touch your tits now, if you want." His tone was hopeful. Bulma backed away a step and pulled up her pants. "I don't think so, but thanks anyway. You sort of bypassed that part of the deal." Shrugging into her tunic she nodded at her sword.

"But that still needs sharpening." "Okay." Looking a bit flustered, Yamcha fastened his breeches and began to put a nice new edge on her blade. "Look, Bulma…I…" She held up her hand. "Not a word, Yamcha. From either of us. We promised, remember?" He nodded and looked relieved but somber. "It's not that I'm a snob or anything, you understand…" Bulma felt some explanation was due. "I just don't want all the other princesses down here hoping for an eyeful of that splendid cock of yours." She looked at him in what she hoped was an admiring fashion. It worked. Yamcha perked up and grinned. "Sure thing, Bulma."

The conversation served to reinforce the A plus Bulma had received in _How to Stroke the Male Ego_. Of course, the subject matter had referred to visiting dignitaries, not cocks, but the fundamental concepts were easy to apply. That evening, Bulma figured the day hadn't been a total waste of time, gown classes notwithstanding. She'd gotten a nice edge on her sword, seen a male cock for the first time and watched it—what was the word she'd heard—_come_. Fascinating stuff. Why the hell there weren't classes in _Sex Education for Princesses Curious About Stuff Like That _, she had no idea.

Her schoolmates had pictures of their favorite fairy movie stars pinned up over their beds and spent long hours discussing how they would marry them in the distant future. Even though most of the chatter revolved around the wedding gown not the wedding night. Sighs and swoons were quite normal, giggles and whispers broke the evening silence on a regular basis, and much time was spent in wondering about kissing. Bulma wondered about that too, but after today she figured she was probably ready to get to the advanced class. _Fucking_.

She turned on her pillow and readied herself for sleep. Perhap s_he _would come to visit her dreams tonight. And perhaps—if she tried really hard—she could talk to _him _about this whole sex thing. She knew he'd answer her questions. She trusted him. He'd protected her for as long as she could remember. He'd scared away the monsters in her closet, helped her pick out dresses for her dolls and held her when her tummy got upset after eating all the frosting off her eighth birthday cake. Yep. When it came to sex, who better to ask than someone who'd always been there for her when she needed him? Bulma closed her eyes and mentally summoned her subconscious friend to come and play in her dreams. And sure enough, her dragon appeared.

* * * * * Dragons don't get sexually aroused—and other myths…

Vegeta snorted and fidgeted as his dreams began. "Hello Vegeta." She was there, cuddled in between his coils, comfortable as a bug in the proverbial rug. He hoped he wouldn't squash her so he shifted a little to make room for her. "You've grown." He stared at the long turquoise hair that flowed down her spine. "You too." She stroked a nearby scale. "I _do _like this blue." He grinned. "Thank you. How's school going?" A gusty sigh answered him. "I hate it, dragon o'mine. It sucks ass. All that fussing around with gowns and stupid stuff I'll never need." He frowned.

"You're a _princess_. Of _course _you're gonna need that stuff." She snorted. "Vegeta, I have twelve sisters ahead of me. You really think anybody's gonna make a huge stink about yet _another _one?" She shook her head. "Nope. I'm gonna lead an army." Vegeta suppressed a chuckle. "Of course you are, honey." "No, really. I've decided that's all I'm good for. I like sword fighting, I shall have several dozen trusty knights heading my forces…I think it'll work." "Hmm. And these knights will follow you because…" She surprised him by standing and removing her nightgown. "Because I shall stand before them like _this_…and they will flock to my side." Vegeta gaped.

If he'd been a knight he'd be there _flocking _with bells on. She was tall and shapely, breasts like ripening peaches and a jaded tuft of curls atop her mound. Her shoulders were firm, her muscles flexing, her body lean from the exercise and swordplay she regularly engaged in. When she threw her arms back and thrust those breasts forwards, Vegeta nearly choked and smoke seeped from his ears. "Holy _shit_." With a smug grin, she curled back against him, naked as a jaybird. "See what I mean?" "_Urghlllflump_…" His tongue was lead, his thoughts confused and his scales were cooking where she leaned against him.

She ran her hands down over her body and Vegeta swore he could hear his guts boiling. "There's so much I don't know yet…" Idly she touched herself, heedless of the fact that she was turning him on—_big_-time. "Like why I get wet…_here_…when I think about _stuff _." Her hand slipped between her legs and she sighed. "Ummm…" "Tell me Vegeta. Tell me about what it's like?" "Ummm…" He was at a loss for words. It shouldn't be up to a dragon to educate a princess about things sexual.

Besides, his brains were off on vacation someplace, his cock was about three feet long by now and he was having a_reeeeeallyhard _time hiding it from her. No pun intended. "I'm dreaming, I know. But you've always been in my dreams. Now I'm dreaming about grown-up things. I need grown up-help. I need to _know _…" Vegeta swallowed down a lump of lust the size of the neighboring shire. "Look, sweetheart…you shouldn't…I mean…what you're doing…" She was swaying slowly against him, her ass grazing his scales in just the right spot to drive him frickin' nuts. Her hand moved.

"It feels sooooo good when I do this." "Does it?" His voice croaked and he cleared his throat. "Uh, well, that's good then. Just keep doing it." _And please wake up or shoot me and put me out of my misery_. "Oooh, yeah. Good idea." She kept doing _it_. With his finely tuned sense of dragon-smell, he could scent the flowering of her arousal, pungent and fresh and tangy as it burgeoned from her cunt. Vegeta ached. Ached for a release he could not have, ached for the girl who was not his to claim and basically just fucking _ached_. This was torture of the worst kind, an unfair punishment for all the years he'd shared her dreams of dolls and birthday parties.

In spite of his physical turmoil, he couldn't look away. Perhaps—perhaps if she kept it up he could poof out of her dreams and back into his own—human—self. He crossed one set of claws, bit down on his arousal and curled himself around her, hiding her from prying eyes. He didn't want to shock the owls, after all. She sighed and shivered. "God, I like this. But I need—something." "Yeah." It was a growl, and Vegeta's tongue drooped from the side of his mouth accidentally catching her on the thigh. She jumped. "Do that again. Higher." Oh fucking _shit _. "I can't." "Yes you can. You're my dream dragon. You do anything I say." She opened her eyes and frowned at him. "It's the rules and you know it."

"God, you can be a bitch when you want to, can't you?" Vegeta frowned back. "I _need _, Vegeta. Quit fucking around. Obey me." Vegeta was torn. None of this was real—it was all some sort of magical dream manifestation. He knew damn well that he was sleeping in his roost and she was miles away in her school bed. She moaned. Okay—correction. She was miles away _moaning _in her school bed. With one hand between her legs and the other now tugging on her hard nipples.

Fucking hell. What had he ever done to deserve this except_schputz _over a fairy? He watched, gaze glued to her pussy, as she found the right spot and the right pressure. It was a beautiful sight. "Give me your tongue, dammit. _Now _." For once, she was every inch the royal Princess issuing a command. Her eyes were closed and she panted, working herself faster each second. Lost, Vegeta succumbed and obeyed. One fork of his tongue gingerly reached out, smoothed up her thigh and delicately flicked her clit. She screamed and disappeared, leaving Vegeta with the most wonderful flavor of hot, wet Bulma on his taste buds.

He licked his lips, savoring her. "Hmm. Not in the least bit like peach." It was sweet, the sweetest taste he could ever remember. And it did awfully painful things to his loins. Or the place where loins were supposed to be. Dragons, of course, didn't have such mundane things as _loins_. Possessed of scales that varied in thickness from a thumb to half a sequoia, dragons had a "pouch"—also heavily armored—where their "loins", for want of a better word, were protected from things like spears, rocks and the occasional poorly judged landing amongst sharp and spiky trees.

Vegeta's pouch was bulging uncomfortably, about a yard of aroused dragon cock coiled within. It was even worse than the hard-on he'd acquired after peeking in on a bachelor party in the castle basement a couple of years before. The host had swiped a porn movie from someplace and Vegeta had gotten an eyeful of some really well-endowed human females doing some pretty hot things to their mates. The dragon side of him was merely curious. It was the human side that screamed "_yikes_" and developed a rather intense case of lust that took about thirty-six hours to recede.

He shifted and vainly attempted to adjust his coiled cock. The coils were necessary because female dragons—at least the ones Vegeta had read about—apparently possessed a D-spot, rather than a G-spot. And it was located around a rather awkward S-bend in their reproductive system. To obtain maximum stimulation, the dragon male had to penetrate the female in a move somewhat resembling a plumber clearing a clog from an ancient set of pipes.

It worked, more often than not, but just to be on the safe side, nature had also equipped female dragons with a clit that protruded at least a foot from their pussies, thus ensuring that there was absolutely no way it would escape the attention of the male during mating. Most female dragons were most appreciative of nature's gesture. With a mutter and a mumble, Vegeta curled himself up awkwardly and decided to sleep off his arousal. If baseball had been invented, he could have spent some time considering the stats of the latest pinch hitter, but unfortunately the game was one of those things that hadn't quite come to pass at this point in time.

Aroused and unsatisfied males of pretty much all species had to make do with thoughts of jousting, sharp lances, clashing swords, sweaty bodies colliding and tumbling to the turf…it was easy to see why baseball was invented. Jousting just didn't do it as well as a whole series of pop flies over the baseline. It certainly didn't work for Vegeta. Oh, he_slept _—dragons can fall asleep at the drop of a helmet_—_but it wasn't restful nor relaxing.

Instead, he dreamed. A personal, private, very Vegeta-type dream. And one which, of course, will be shared with you, dear reader, since you're probably on tenterhooks waiting to hear all about the sordid things that go on in a human-slash-dragon's brain when he's fast developing a serious case of and completely unrequited sexual desire for his beautiful princess. Let's face it, you don't get to read about things absolutely like that in an ordinary fairy tale, do you?...

4


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of this comics ore novels , which this fanfic was based…. I just loved them and they screamed vegeta and Bulma every way… enjoy it-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/

chapter three

Bulma comes home…

Four long years later, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, Bulma finally rested her gaze on the ancient stone walls of her home. The flags were flying gaily, welcoming back the current crop of graduating princesses and celebrating their various accomplishments. They all knew that in fact it was their father's way of saying "_Good, now I can marry some of you offand get more land. Or cash. Or a player to be announced later_." It was the accepted custom for princesses to be assigned husbands who would enrich the Kingdom from which they hailed.

In exchange, said husbands received the privilege of fucking some aristocratic cunt and siring offspring about whom they could boast "_well, of course, my wife's family, you know—those royal genes will tell, won't they_…?" Bulma couldn't help but notice the large number of would-be suitors gathered along the processional route to watch the returning princesses. And she also wryly noted the glances received by princesses numbered one through seven. Those were, of course, the ones in line to receive the heftiest dowry.

By the time_s he _arrived, bringing up the rear, she was lucky to get a waggled eyebrow or two from the oldest or the pimpliest bachelor. Bulma sighed. This was going to be a bit of a rough patch, she knew. If she was forced to tell her parents that she was absolutely _not _going to marry any of these dickheads there would probably be a minor uproar. Minor because her position so far down on the monarchical totem pole meant she was eating dirt most of the time. But an uproar because princesses simply didn't _do _that sort of thing—defying their parents. Well, _fuck it_. Bulma had done a _lot _of things princesses simply didn't do. Thankfully, not many people knew about them.

She'd lost her virginity for one thing, and that was Sin Number HA1 (Hugely Awful) when it came to the life of a princess. They were supposed to be pure, surrendering only to their husbands and thus ensuring the uncontamination of his line. Bulma repeated her earlier thought. _Fuck that _. She'd given it up to that really nice minstrel with the lovely voice who'd had a number one hit about fire and rain and stuff. He'd been quite kind, rather overawed at the fact that she—a princess of the realm—was in his bed with her pussy in his face, and overall it had been a mostly pleasant experience.

The oral part had been great, although the actual deed itself didn't quite measure up to its advance billing. Since then, during her years as an advanced student, she'd experimented a couple of times, finding the process less messy, certainly less painful, and generally an okay way to spend Saturday nights if there was nothing good on Shire TV. But it hadn't exactly rung bells for her. Unlike her courses in_Leadership and Battle Tactics _, which she'd bullied her way into, claiming that _Needlework and Tapestry _made her puke. This was quite true, Bulma having developed a convenient but genuine allergy to the yarns used in the course.

A solid projectile-type vomit over a large, almost-completed tapestry—which represented two years worth of work—had pretty much guaranteed her rapid exit from the classroom. Her ears rang for a week with the outraged screams of her fellow needlewomen. She'd gladly withdrawn from that course, insisting that she be allowed to transfer into the small recitation section that focused on more interesting things. Like leadership and how to fight a successful battle.

She'd aced the tests, passed the final with flying colors and presented a simulated attack plan that had stunned the lecturer with its simple but effective brilliance. She'd also fucked him the following evening unfortunately discovering that although his intellect might be huge, his sexual prowess wasn't quite so blessed. She'd shrugged and handled it gracefully, calling on her princessly skills to cover her failure to orgasm and the minimal size of his dick. _Can't hit the high notes all the time _.

Thus the triumphant graduates of Princess School filed in to their home, eagerly anticipating their future lives as wives and mothers. With one exception. Bulma. All she could think of was going to find her friend. Her one true friend. The creature who'd stood by her for her entire life, through thick and thin. _Vegeta_, her very own dragon. She slid from her horse ignoring the shocked gasps of those who noticed she had been riding astride instead of in the correct sidesaddle manner of her sisters. _Screw _that nonsense.

She hated the awkward twist of the spine required to hold her balance, figured the horse probably hated it too, and much preferred to have something moving rhythmically between her legs. Tossing the reins to a servant, Bulma hurried up to her small room, shrugged off her riding cape and quickly found her way to the older, quieter parts of the castle. She knew he'd be there, figured he'd seen the noisy procession wending its way over the drawbridge and guessed he would be waiting. He was.

"Vegeeeeeetaaaaa…" Bulma nearly tripped over his tail as she ran out onto the balcony where he'd been watching the goings-on. "I'm home." She dashed to his head and hugged him as hard as she could, almost smothering one nostril with her hair and poking him in the eye with her hands. "_Mggrymplfmpf_." "What?" "I said…" He snuffled her hair out of the way and tried again. "Welcome home." "_Vegeta_, you're crying." She sniffed herself and hugged him harder. "I wouldn't be if you took your fingers out of my eye."

"Oh. Sorry." Bulma backed away a little bit. "Damn, babe. I'm so glad to see you. God, you're looking good." She caressed his snout, running her hand over the smooth blue scales that glowed brightly in the sunshine. Vegeta grunted. "You too, sweetheart" "Did ya miss me?" She grinned at him, ringing his horn with her fingertips and then dancing around him, touching him every place she could reach. Being with him at last, in the flesh, made her heart sing and she couldn't stop smiling as she learned the texture of his body and the shape of his head.

"Nope." He chuckled in her head. "Liar. Dear liar." She dropped a light kiss on the tip of his snout. "I missed you."

"Oh sure." He sighed gustily sending a quick whiff of warm air through her loose tresses. "I'll bet you did. All those boys—all those adventures, which—I might add—you never _did _dream about and let me share…" He looked pained.

"Jeez, Vegeta. You perv. You wanted in on the action, huh?" Vegeta pouted, quite an accomplishment for a creature with no lips. "I wouldn't have minded."

She giggled. "Nothing _to _share, sweetie. Nothing worth dreaming about. If I was going to dream with you, it was gonna have to be something _really _special." He lifted one scaly eyebrow. "Like invading that icky territory a few shires away?" "Hey. A good battle gets the blood heated a helluva lot more than most of the idiots I was fool enough to fuck." She sighed. "And I never _did _hear the last of that little episode." Vegeta shook his head. "Can't say I'm surprised. Not many princesses get to join a military campaign in disguise, chop off some heads, skewer a knight or two and live to tell about it." "Good point. But shit, it was _fun_, Vegeta." She smiled sunnily at him.

"Better than sewing any day." Vegeta's non-lips parted in the dragon equivalent of a grin. "Yeah. I sort of figured that out." "About the barfing thing…" He lifted a claw. "Don't go there, okay?" Bulma shrugged. "Okay." She stretched and moved to the battlements, looking out over the countryside. "So. What's next?" "For you? Marriage I suppose." "Fuck. I was afraid of this." Bulma squared her shoulders. "Father's got 'em all lined up, hasn't he?" "Yep. It's his duty." "Duty_schmooty _. He's after loot, that's all. We're commodities to be bartered in the market of dowries and land. It sucks."

"Maybe he's picked out a nice one for you…" Vegeta was obviously trying to be supportive. "Yeah right." She snorted in her turn. All that was missing was the smoke belching from her nose. "I'm lucky thirteen, babe. No matter that I'm sharper than the rest of 'em put together. No matter that numbers one through seven took a few more years to graduate because they had problems spelling their names." She curled her lip in disgust. "I seem to come from a long line of flaming twits." Vegeta chuckled. "Well you broke _that _mold right enough. And in all honesty, it would be fucking scary if _all _you princesses could wield a sword instead of a needle…" "Another good point." Bulma was about to continue her discussion when a chime sounded within the roost. "_Princess Bulma—to the main hall please. Princess Bulma—to the main hall_." Her jaw dropped.

"An _intercom _? What the fuck is this? _Castlemarts _?" Vegeta shrugged. "It got installed some time ago when the King had laryngitis and couldn't yell for his servants anymore. Gotta say it pisses me off." "_Princesses Shirley and Florence—please see the seamstress. Princess Arabella—your prince has come_." Bulma rolled her eyes. "Shit. I can see why." "_Cancel Princess Florence. Cancel Princess Florence_." "And this morning it's been going nuts." Vegeta sighed. "You'd better go, honey. The King doesn't like being kept waiting." Bulma grimaced.

"Yeah. And I'll just bet there's a maid in my room now with some really trashy piece of clothing she's gonna want to squeeze me into. Like my tits are gonna sell me since my dowry won't." Vegeta was oddly silent and Bulma turned to look at him. His eyes were glassy and fixed on her chest, and his tongue was hanging out. "You okay?" He cleared his throat and politely blew the smoke downwind. "Of course. I was just thinking about your breasts, that's all." Bulma smirked and tugged her tunic up, flashing him a look at the real thing. "Not bad, huh?" Then she spun on her heel and ran toward the stone stairs. "Later, dude. I'll be back." Vegeta rocked the battlements with the ensuing groan.

* * * * Court Courting and the Art of the Negotiated Deal

The main hall was a seething throng of lush fabrics, massive glittering jewels and fanciful hairdos—and that was just the _men_. The women were even_worse _, at least according to Bulma's bored eyes anyway. She'd never actually seen so many women engaged in what she could only describe as "synchronized simpering" in her life. The Princesses had been seated on a dais to the left of the King's throne. (The Queen, poor dear, was recovering from the birth of yet_another _daughter. Bulma had given up trying to remember how many sisters she now had. And she also wondered if the Queen had ever considered birth control—or, if that proved ineffective, castrating the King with his own sword.)

To the right of the throne was the King's trusty Seneschal, now a graying elderly man with a rather harried look in his eyes. Since he was the one who had to continually tell the King about the arrival of more daughters, Bulma wasn't surprised. And off to the far right were the suitors. Bulma looked them over. Shit. That's a sorry-looking lot. Ranked by importance, even the most noble of princes looked a bit light in the loafers to Bulma's critical gaze. Of course, she couldn't see terribly well, since the princesses had also been arranged in order of importance and she'd ended up at the back—third row, last seat on the left.

The sister in front of her seemed to think that Big Hair was still "in" and Bulma spent a good portion of the time craning her neck around the monstrosity that her sister had teased up into some sort of hirsute mountain. There was a bird in it, too. Bulma stared at it, wondering if it was a decoration or one that had mistakenly (although understandably) assumed that this was actually its nest. A blast on the trumpets made everyone jump and silence fell as the King strode into the room.

There was a rustle as the throng stood respectfully, and a muffled clang followed by a curse from one of the Princes when his dress sword dropped on his foot. (The bird hadn't moved, so that answered at least one of Bulma's questions.) Suppressing her snicker, Bulma schooled her features into an arrangement resembling princessly disdain. Mostly she figured she looked like she had gas, but what the hell. She might as well show the Court she'd learned _so mething _from her Princess classes. "Welcome home, my _daughters _."

Talk about having gas. The King spat out the last word with barely restrained disgust. "I'm sure you are all ready to take your place beside your chosen mate. To become his support, his inspiration and bring pride to your family." Not to mention enriching the King's coffers considerably. Bulma curled her lip. Of course, to give the guy his due, he lived in a castle where there wasn't a raised toilet seat to be found anywhere. "As you will see, there are many who seek the privilege of your hands in marriage." He waved his own hand at the assembled suitors who blushed and fidgeted or coughed self-consciously Sheesh. What a load of overdressed assholes.

"The Court has carefully considered each and every applicant, each and every request, each and every offer for your hands." And each and every bit of property on the negotiating table too, I'll bet. Bulma's gut curdled. She wondered if she'd been bartered for a pigsty, or perhaps an acre or two of beet fields. She _hated _beets. "Will you shut the fuck up? I'm trying to listen." Bulma jumped as Vegeta's voice sounded in her head. It was comforting, familiar and she felt some of her tensions relax as she tried to hide the smile his words had stimulated.

Thinking about Vegeta made the whole drawn-out, incredibly boring ceremony a shitload easier, that was for sure. He would understand why she'd rather be given a sword, a horse and a sharp lance over a husband any day. Although—a lick of heat shimmered between her legs—she'd prefer _not _to give up the chance to have some really _good _sex someday. And consequent upon the thought of really good sex, her mind darted back to the moment a few years back when Vegeta's tongue had touched her in just the right spot and blown her princessly brains out of her left ear. _Fuck_. She must be a serious perv herself if she was gonna start thinking about getting it on with a goddamn _dragon_.

His cock was probably half a mile long and he'd rip her to bits if he ever tried to— "_Will you shut the fuck up_?" Vegeta's mental bellow of outrage nearly knocked her off her chair. She sucked in a breath and blushed. She'd forgotten he could hear every frickin' thought now she was home. "And now for Princess Bulma…" There was a silence until the sister sitting next to Bulma nudged her sharply. "That's you." Bulma jumped and frowned. "I know _that_." "Then stand up, for God's sake." Bulma sighed and stood, feeling a lot more like she was about to face a firing squad than an engagement announcement.

"Uh…let me see here…" The King consulted a sheaf of papers on a low table by the throne. "Where's that one?" He hissed an aside to his Seneschal. The man hurried to paw through the papers as well, while Bulma rolled her eyes, stared at the ceiling and tried not to whistle. "What the fuck. That'll do." The King waved his aide aside. "Princess Bulma. You are hereby affianced to Prince William of Littlewick." He looked around, only to have the Seneschal return and whisper something in his ear.

He sighed and actually deigned to look at Bulma. "The moron isn't here yet. Sorry about that." The others fidgeted as Bulma sat back down with a thump. She'd gotten herself engaged to an idiot who couldn't even show up on time. Hah. We'll see about that. Vegeta, who had been carefully monitoring things via his link with Bulma, grinned. She was pissed off to the hilt, but he couldn't quite figure out if it was because she'd gotten herself an unwanted fiancé, or if it

was because he wasn't there at the time.

Vegeta had also squelched down some very un-dragonly emotions as he'd caught her musings on sex. With _him_. It was utterly and completely impossible. Vegeta knew that, Bulma knew that and it was a rather sore spot in Vegeta's existence. His body might be about half a ton of scales and fire, but his soul was still vaguely human and he could still yearn. Thankfully, although he shared Bulma's dreams, she hadn't shared his. _Especially _not the ones in which he had his own human body back and fucked her every which way 'til Tuesday—and then some. Or the porn movie ones.

Those were _really _good ones, all things considered. Of course even if he was human, she probably wouldn't be interested in a pimply low-born dweeb, not when there was some aristocratic twit with a title lurking around just waiting to pounce on…on…those _gorgeous _breasts she'd flashed him. He sighed. Sometimes it was hard being a dragon. Especially when said dragon got hard and his pouch pinched him in rather uncomfortable places. Still, all things considered, he wanted her to be happy more than anything else.

And if this William of Whatever could do the trick—then Vegeta would bow out of the picture, do his best to sever the mind link and let her live the life she was entitled to. He might just throw himself off the battlements to celebrate his joy at the occasion. Morosely he trundled to the edge of the ramparts and rested his chin on the stones, staring at nothing in particular. He could hear the noise from the main hall even at this distance, which wasn't really surprising since the sound of about a gazillion women all talking at once ranked right up there with earthquakes, violent explosions and Dandelion's farts on the decibel scale.

There'd be a party going on right about now, food and drink would flow freely and be followed by dancing. Most couples would then pair off for the night, since they were formally affianced and could fuck their empty brains out without fear of recrimination. This day was, in fact, a helluva lot more fun than the actual weddings that would come not long after. (Close enough that any accidental royals-in-the-making would have legitimacy.)

But Vegeta, naturally, wasn't invited. Nobody invited dragons to parties since they tended to knock things over with their tails and scorch the curtains when they belched. Plus they really sucked at charades. A flurry of noise behind him distracted Vegeta from his depressed musings and he raised an ear, recognizing Bulma's light step. He didn't move. "What're you doing here? Shouldn't you be waiting for your fiancé?" She groaned and came to stand beside him, resting an arm on his neck and staring along with him at the countryside.

"He couldn't even be bothered to show up, Vegeta. That's how unimportant I am in the overall scheme of things." Vegeta huffed sympathetically. "I'm thinking of becoming a nun." This time the huff was more of a chortle. "You're kidding, right? You're gonna hide those fabulous breasts under a black robe for the rest of your natural days?" He finally turned and raised an eyebrow. "I soooo don't think so." "Better that than spend my life in bed with an asshole."

"Why should you be any different than a good percentage of the women in the world?" She pinched a scale. "Shit, Vegeta. That's pretty harsh." "I'm feeling harsh. You're gonna marry somebody. I'll be all alone." He turned back to his former slumping position and slumped even more.

There was a ping from the chime behind them. "_Princess Bulma—to your room please. Princess Bulma—to your room please_." Vegeta turned, hissed out a snort of disgust and accurately fried the intercom with a quick blast from his left nostril. "There. Perhaps now I'll get some peace and quiet for a bit." "Vegeta…" Bulma leaned over and dropped a kiss on his ear. "I'll never love anybody as much as I love you. Please believe me." Vegeta wanted to._Oh _how he wanted to. But she knew him as a dragon, not the bewitched man who yearned for her.

"You'd better go, sweetheart. Your prince has come." "Will you—like hover outside or something? Just don't go all moody on me and leave me alone with him?" She sounded worried, genuinely worried, which was unusual for his brave Bulma, who could gut enemies without a blink. He sighed, helpless to refuse her anything. "Okay, if that's what you want. I'll keep an eye on your room. But all you have to do is give me a signal and I'm out of there, okay?" She kissed his ear once more.

"Bless you, babe. I'll feel a lot better knowing there's help around if I need it." She paused. "If I say 'light the fire' then you can consider your job done. But _only _that, nothing else. If I scream '_fry his ass '_then just _do _it, okay?" Vegeta nodded. It wouldn't be easy, but he would—as always—be there for his personal Princess, up to and including the moment when her Prince came. Or she did, if the guy was any good at all.

5


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of this comics ore novels , which this fanfic was based…. I just loved them and they screamed vegeta and Bulma every way… enjoy it-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/

Chapter Four

Some day my Prince will come…but not inside me!

Bulma heard the knock on the door and tried to quell her racing heart. This was it, the moment she'd get her first look at the hopefully-not-_total_idiot her father had assigned to her as her future husband. She crossed the room preparing for the worst, since she placed little reliance on her father's skills at matchmaking. She opened the door—and caught her breath. Standing in front of her was every maiden's dream come true. Stunned, her jaw dropped as she let her gaze travel over the six-foot-and-then-some of delectable male. Curly dark hair fell to his shoulders, brushing them softly. And nice firm shoulders they were, too.

Beneath them was a chest wide enough to make any girl drool, especially since a good portion of it was revealed by a flowing white shirt that wasn't quite laced tight enough to hide his well-defined pecs. A trim waist followed, long muscular thighs in tight black pants whispered of strength and hard riding, and shiny boots completed the dramatic ensemble. She whisked her gaze back up to his face, noting the attractive stubble on his chin and the darkly luminous eyes. He was sex-on-the-hoof, straight off the cover of a romance novel—and he was all _hers_. She stood back, licked her lips and waved him in. He smiled and entered, pushing the door closed behind him with one firm hand.

Then he spoke. "Hewwow." Bulma blinked. "I'm William of Widdlewick. I beweive you were expecting me?" He wandered around the room, taking some sort of inventory. "Er, yes. Hello. I'm Bulma." She struggled to regain her wits. He nodded. "Yes. They towd me you were pwetty." He glanced at her. "They were wight." "Would you care to sit down?" Bulma fought to remember her manners. "No, that's awwight. We might as well get stwaight to the fucking." He looked hopeful. "I bwought a book." "You did?" She gulped. "What sort of book?"

"A book with pwetty pictures in it. Of people doing things. Boy people and giwl people." "Oh. That'll be a help, I'm sure." Prince William sighed. "Yes. For some weason the women I've swept with seem to wike wooking at it first." No shit. Bulma turned away, biting her lip hard. "Er—have you swept…sorry…_slept_with many women?" "Oh yes. Hundweds." "_Weely_?" She blushed. "I mean—_really_?" He wrinkled his handsome nose in thought. "At weast ten." "Ah." He tipped his head at the only painting on her wall, a landscape of some fanciful and nonexistent tropical island.

"I wike awt." "Pardon?" "Awt. Paintings. I paint, you know." "You do?" "Yes. Would you wike to see one?" He reached into the pocket of his shirt and pulled out a small miniature. Curiously, Bulma walked to his side and examined the little piece of porcelain. There were several daubs of yellow and orange at the top and a harsh black line across the bottom. "How…charming. And original." Bulma racked her brains. "I see you follow the surreal techniques. Or would that be the Dadaist school?" He laughed.

"Oh no, I'm nothing wike _that_. Can't stand my father." He stroked his chin. "Of couwse it's going to be hard to weave Mummy…" He shrugged and put the miniature away. "But perhaps you'd wike me to undwess?" Without waiting for an answer, Prince William began to diswobe. Sorry—_disrobe_. As more and more of his body was revealed, Bulma found her belly heating in spite of her annoyingly prevalent need to laugh hysterically. "Why don't you wook at the book and I can stwip?" He tossed his shirt aside and reached for his boots. "Then I can take your cwothes off for you. That's going to be wots of fun, isn't it?" If he'd just shut the fuck up, perhaps she could manage this. Willingly, she moved to the bed and sat down, idly riffling through the pages.

And blushing. Sheeiit. She barely heard the sound of the Prince's boots as they hit the floor. Her eyes were wide, gaze glued to the most erotically fantastic line drawings she'd ever seen. _Why the fuck didn't I get my hands on this when I was in school? _Positions, techniques, things that had never entered her mind—they were all there in black and white, tempting her, luring her into a world of heated sex that turned her thighs into sweaty and trembling useless appendages.

The Prince cleared his throat, distracting her. With a frown she turned, only to find him standing in front of her mirror, thus affording her not only the charms of his full frontal nudity, but a very nice glimpse of his naked ass too. His cock was quite presentable, all things considered, since fortunately it didn't have to say anything, just perform as nature intended. She studied it, noting how it grew under her gaze. "Well? Do you wike my cock? Would you wike to suck it for a wittle bit?" He stroked himself and smirked. "Most women wike to do that. Wunning their mouths awound it makes me hot." He stared at her. "Then I can wick you too if you want." He shifted, spreading his legs apart a tad in invitation.

"Give me…" Bulma covered her face and tried not to giggle. "Give me a moment…" The possibilities of "wicking" raced through her mind. Turning away, she quickly unlaced her gown, pulling the thick folds up over her head and screaming silently into the enveloping fabric._If he only could say all his r's and his l's _… "Probably can't tell his arse from his elbows either." Vegeta's amused tones rang in her brain and she almost lost it right there and then. "Shut up. He'll hear you." "No he won't. Only you can hear me speak, babe. This limp wimp can't hear a thing." "He's not _limp_, that's the awful part of it. He's hung like a horse."

"Evewything awwight?" The Prince's question sounded muffled and she finally emerged from the depths of her gown. "Quite. Yes. Thank you for asking." "Vewy nice bweasts." "Thank you again." Bulma dropped the remains of her clothing on the floor. There was no point in faking maidenly modesty at this point, that was for sure. "Did you wook at the book? I'd wike to twy page twenty-two after you've sucked on me. What do you think?" I think I'm gonna piss my pants. "You're not wearing any." "Shut _up, _Vegeta."

"Pawdon?" "Never mind." Bulma threw up her hands. "How about we just go straight to the fucking, okay? You said page twenty-two?" She thumbed through the book and paused at the appropriate page. A woman was bent double and her partner was buried to his balls—up her arse. "This one?" Bulma pointed at it with a steady finger, a raised eyebrow and what she knew was a glacial expression on her face. "Yep." The Prince looked smug. "Aww you have to do is suck me off first. Then I get hard again, wip into you, fuck you siwwy and you wet me into your ass."

It was the last straw for Bulma. Torn between the agonizingly strong urge to scream with laughter, and outrage that this jerk would automatically assume she was gonna let him fuck her up the ass ten minutes after "hello"—or "hewwow" as the case may be—she closed the book with a snap. "eI don't think so." "No?" He pouted. "Well, there's awways page sixty-nine?" "No." "But…weeally…it's vewy nice…" "I don't fucking _car_." The Prince's eyes narrowed. "Aha. You must be one of those that wikes to be waashed."

"Huh?" "Waashed? With a whip?" "Lashed?" Bulma was beside herself, breasts bobbing up and down as she seethed. "Absolutely not, you twit." "Easy there, Bulma. He's only human." Vegeta's voice was soothing. "Give him a break, okay?" "No." She spun around and stared out the window. "If he puts one finger on me, I'm screaming bloody murder." "What?" The Prince sounded puzzled. "I'm not supposed to fingew you, I'm supposed to _fuck _you." "Look, Mr. Pwecious Pwince. That ain't gonna happen. Not here, not now, not today—not _ever _." His eyebrows drew together in a frown.

"You cannot deny me. You are mine by wight." "Bullshit." Bulma stood her ground. "Just because my idiot father made a deal with you and _I _got to be on the bargaining table doesn't mean _you _get to fuck me while I'm there. And certainly _not _up the ass." A handsome lip curved into a sneer and he started to advance on Bulma. Who backed away.

"I am going to fuck you, Pwincess, with or without your appwoval. I will not be thwawted." A snicker from outside the window didn't help matters and although Bulma knew she was in imminent danger of being—er—_waped_, she couldn't help a little gurgle of laughter from bubbling up in her throat.

Her dagger lay beneath her pillow, so she could always_castwate _the bugger if worse came to worst. A gust of smoke billowed in from the window. "What's_that _?" The prince coughed. "Er…the heating system is acting up a bit." Bulma knew damn well exactly what—or rather who—had produced the cloud of sulphurous fumes. "Look, William. I'm sorry. This clearly isn't working." Bulma held up her hand. "It's nothing personal, you understand…" He paused and frowned. "It's not?" Bulma thought rapidly.

"No, not at all. It's just that I think you've gotten a rotten deal from my father. I'm the thirteenth princess, you know. No real dowry to speak of…" His brows drew even closer together. "And your womb is really vewy small…" "Pardon?" "Your womb." He waved his hands around. "It's vewy small." "Oh. My _room _. Yes it is." "Mummy warned me, you know." He sighed. "She did?" "She said I'd be stuck with a wow number bwide. She was wight. It's all my fault for getting here wate. But what could I do? My horse was wimping…" His lower lip trembled.

Bulma shuddered and nearly farted as she held her laughter in check. "_I _know. Why don't you get dressed and see if there are any other eligible princesses left? God knows I've got enough sisters…there may be one or two with better dowries than me…"_And less brains too _._Ones who wouldn't care about things like adequate conversational skills. _"Don't worry about the King. I'll take care of it all." She gathered his clothes and passed them to him, patting him maternally on the shoulder. "You're really a very nice guy. Just not the right guy for me."

He sighed and pulled on his pants and boots. "You are smawt. I never manage to get it on with the smawt ones." "Not your fault, dear. You just run along and I'll handle everything here. You deserve a nice princess of your own. Someone who likes painting too, perhaps…" His face lit up with a very handsome smile. "Oooh. Bwilliant." "Yes, aren't I?" She tugged his arm. "Here's the door. You know where to go. Have fun." She shoved him through, grabbing his shirt as he dropped it and pushing it into his arms in a crumpled bundle. "Enjoy the castle. Have a lovely life. Bye-bye now." With an enormous sigh of relief, Bulma slammed the door shut behind her handsome prince. And tumbled onto the bed, laughing until the tears ran from her eyes.

* * * * *The Picture on Page Fifteen…

Her ribs ached, her face ached—Bulma figured she'd never laughed quite so hard in her life. Finally, the howls gave way to an occasional chuckling hiccup and she lifted her head to see Vegeta's, resting comfortably in the embrasure and watching her. "All done?" She giggled some more. "Dunno." She sat up. "Shit, Vegeta. You have to admit that was the funniest damn thing since…I don't know since when." Vegeta quirked an eyebrow. "It's pretty mean laughing at a guy for something he can't help." Chastened, Bulma nodded. "I know. And under the usual set of circumstances, I wouldn't have. Honest." She peeked at him from under her eyelashes.

"But it was the idea of having him in bed with me, fucking me…can you imagine?" She bit down on another laugh. "_Oh Pwincess. Wick me. Wuv me_. _I'm a howny wittle wust-fiwwed fucker_." "Does sort of detract from the moment, doesn't it?" Vegeta's eyes lit with amusement. "Babe, it kills it stone dead." She shrugged. "He was good-looking too, but…it's not about looks, is it?" "Don't ask me. I don't know anything about it." "Riiiight." Bulma stretched, careless of her nudity and always comfortable around Vegeta whether clothed or not. Her gaze fell on the book lying half open. "Oh shit. He forgot his book."

"Call a servant. Have somebody get it back to him." Vegeta yawned hugely, sending a whuff of warm air over Bulma's naked body. She tingled. "Umm…hang on a minute here…" She couldn't help it. The book was there, she was alone but for Vegeta, and this was her chance to really get some of the inside information she'd yearned for during her schooling. Sure, she'd had sex, but somewhere—someplace inside her—she'd always known there was something missing. Some spark of pleasure that had eluded her.

Something that resulted in a "Whooeee" sort of experience rather than a "Thanks, that was nice" evening. Sadly, they'd mostly been the latter than the former. In fact, Bulma realized suddenly that there had really only been one "Whooeee" in her entire life. And _Vegeta _had been responsible for it. Her hand shook a little at the epiphany. She'd not touched herself since that night, scared that he wouldn't be there to help her hit that fabulous peak—or perhaps even more scared that he would. She blinked. This was too fucking complicated.

And _then _…her gaze fell on page fifteen. She sucked in a breath. "You okay?" Vegeta's voice sounded lazy in her ears, a soft caress that went all the way to her crotch and back up again. "Uh…yeah. I just found…" "What?" "A picture." Bulma stared at it. "Really? Of what?" She could do this. _They _could do this. The images flooded her mind, a rapid cascade of arousal that tightened her belly and moistened her pussy. "Of…something I think I'm gonna try." She darted him a quick glance. "With _you_." "Huh?" "Something for us. The two of us. Together."

"Babe—" Vegeta cleared his throat awkwardly. "I'm a _dragon_. You know we can't get it on. It just ain't gonna work." A wicked grin curved her lips and she watched as Vegeta's eyes dropped to her mouth. "_We _don't have to." "I don't understand." She looked down at the book again. There were two people—a woman and a man—in the picture. The man was lying on the bed, hands behind his head, propped up by pillows and quite naked. Also aroused—very aroused—and with a shit-eating grin on his face. The artist was really rather good and Bulma wondered for a second if Prince William had drawn it, but then dismissed the thought. There was nothing surreal about this picture.

It was _very _accurate. The woman was standing at the foot of the bed—lasciviously fondling herself in front of her partner. It was in the section on "Foreplay" and a quick riffle showed Bulma that such activities were met with apparent pleasure on both sides, since pages sixteen and seventeen took the participants right into the act—straightforward fucking. She licked lips that were suddenly dry. "Okay Vegeta. Here's what we're gonna do." For a dragon, he looked surprisingly uncertain.

"You keep saying _we_." She nodded and slithered from the bed. "Oh yeah. It's a definite _we _. This is something we can _both _do." "Honey—I can't—" "You don't have to." She stood before him, naked and ready, taking a great deal of delight in the little drop of saliva that was oozing from the side of his mouth and puddling on the floor. "What _do _I have to do then?" He sounded flat-out worried now. "Just watch, Vegeta. Just _watch _." She breathed in, letting her breasts rise and fall as she did so. "Can you do that?" His gulp was noisy. "Uh, I_guess _so." "Good." Bulma smiled.

Could he watch? _Hell yeah_. His eyes wouldn't turn any other way, he couldn't have moved his gaze if somebody'd shoved a sword up his ass at that particular moment and he had no issues with ignoring the fact he was hanging on to the outside of the castle with only two claws. His head was inside Bulma's room and he wanted to be inside Bulma so bad his pouch was threatening to explode from the pressure of his cock inside it. He daren't reach down and free it—there was another embrasure below and whoever was in _that _room would probably notice a stiff three feet of dragon cock if it thrust into their presence and dripped with pre-come.

Things like that tended to attract unwanted attention and if he got himself castrated at this point it would _so _not be a good thing. Thus his entire focus remained fixed on the woman standing in front of him—less than a flicker of his tongue away. _No, can't do that _. Too creepy. Too—_bestial_. And at the back of his mind lingered a thought—perhaps this might free him from the spell holding him captive. Good thing or bad thing, he wasn't sure, but damned if he gave a fuck at this point. He just wanted to see Bulma. So he watched.

She sighed as her hands stroked her skin, her forearms at first, running over them like she was cold. Vegeta knew better. He could sense her heat even from this distance, along with the sweet flowering of her pussy as the juices began to flow. Her stance altered a little, her legs parting, offering him tantalizing glimpses of glittering droplets of moisture as they dappled her thighs. It took him a few seconds to realize that at long last this was for _real_. She grinned at him and cupped her breasts. "What do you think, babe? Will they do?" "For what?" Vegeta rasped out the words into her head, knowing his voice was hoarse as her thumbs played with her nipples.

"For you…" She teased herself, gasping as a nail abraded the hard peak. "_Fuck yeah, oh—yeah_…" He caught himself drooling heavily and swallowed. It wasn't easy since his throat rested heavily on the windowsill, but he managed it. He was damned if he'd drown in his own spit at this point in the proceedings. Bulma's hips swayed. "I like this, Vegeta. I like it when you watch me. It's…_hot_, you know?" He wanted to nod but couldn't. He didn't have room. Knocking out the ceiling would have totally spoiled the moment.

She didn't seem to mind. "I can see myself in your eyes. My reflection…" She moved a little closer and slid one hand over her belly, delicately smoothing the skin, ringing her cute little belly button with one finger and then closing her eyes languorously. "God, this is good…" Vegeta made some sort of strangled sound in agreement. It was so good that if it got better his eyes might blow up. It got better. Bulma's hand slithered south, inevitably finding her pussy and the pinkly wonderful magic of her cunt. Or so Vegeta liked to think of it. Or—in all honesty—how he _would _have thought of it if he'd been writing a purplish-prose type romance novel.

She smoothed the liquids around making slippery slick noises that drove Vegeta's wits clean out of his skull. His pouch was coldly sopping with the oozing droplets of his own arousal. It would probably take a month of flying around with his flap open to dry the fucking thing. He didn't care. His tongue flopped down onto the floor. Bulma, lost in her own erotic exercise, ignored it. She'd found a place that made her pulse throb visibly at the base of her throat and was now swaying in time to some private music that only she could hear.

"Oh lord…" She strummed her clit, parting the folds with two fingers, letting it come out and peep at Vegeta, who peeped back. It was—beautiful. Hard and pearlescent, Bulma's clit was a work of art no jeweler could have ever duplicated. And clearly it was sensitive since she rubbed around it, beneath it, beside it—but never quite on top of it. "I'm feeling so good, Vegeta. So good." She whispered the words. He was silent. There was nothing he could say that would satisfactorily cover the emotions roiling through him

.

Her muscles tensed and released, her hands moved over her body and she let it all go, finding delight in her own touch and the sharing of this moment with him. "I'm imagining that this is _you _touching me, Vegeta. Your mouth—here—" "Yeah. I want my mouth there. So baaaaad…" "Your arms around me, your fingers playing with my nipples…"

"I don't have arms or fingers. Fuck it. I'll improvise." "Vegeta, I'm getting hot…" "No fucking shit, babe. I'm about to create a thermal fusion reaction here…" "I'm gonna _come_, Vegeta. Watch me come. Tell me if you like what you see, Vegeta…" Her hands moved faster now, with greater intent, and as her fingers squeezed one breast Vegeta choked on his own desire.

He held his breath, not willing to risk interrupting this moment. He'd forgotten about the fairy, the spell and that he was a dragon. All his years as a fire-breathing entity went out the window. Right now, he was just a simple male watching his female pleasure herself. She opened her eyes and stared at him. He could feel her desires, sense her arousal, experience her peak as it built slowly from her ass and crept over her like hot lava on a mountainside. "Now, Vegeta…be with me…" Her face crumpled as she teetered on the very brink… And there was a loud _pop… _And the sudden light that erupted into the room focused down onto one _extremely _irate fairy.

5


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I am not the owner of any of this comics ore novels , which this fanfic was based…. I just loved them and they screamed vegeta and Bulma every way… enjoy it-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/-*/

Chapter Five

You want that fairy regular or extra crispy?

"_Noooooo…_" The word screamed out at exactly the same moment from three different sources. One was Bulma, caught with her fingers up her cunt and trembling on the brink of orgasm. Another was Vegeta's brain, crying out with desolation at the glimpse of paradise he was apparently to be denied. And the third was the fairy who stood—arms akimbo—glaring at the two of them in fury. "You sneaky piece of _shit_. You think you're gonna work your way around _my _spell?" She narrowed her eyes at Vegeta.

"Who the fuck are you?" Bulma's face grew stern. "And where the fuck do you get off insulting _my _dragon?" "Your dragon?" The fairy glanced at her. "_Your _fucking dragon? Who the fuck do you think made him a dragon in the first fucking place? _Bitch_" Oh oh. Vegeta blinked. Pissing off Bulma like that was really _not _a good idea. He knew his woman. Knew her temper and knew the signs. They were all there. "Look here _twinkle toes _…" Bulma crossed the room and loomed over the fairy, arms on her own hips, sparks of anger in her eyes.

"I dunno what all this is about, but I'm _not _one of the stupid princesses. If what I _think _happened _happened _, and you're the one behind it, you got a lot to answer for. And calling _me _bitch is getting seriously into pot-and-kettle territory." She leaned in. "_And _you wanna watch that foul mouth of yours." "Yeah. You tell her." Vegeta would have clapped if he'd had hands, or even a free claw at that particular moment. The fairy looked at him. "You make a shitty dragon." He stared back at her. "And you ain't exactly aged well, toots. Got a few wrinkles and a couple grey hairs going there…"

"Why you…" She opened her mouth only to shut it when Bulma grabbed a wing. "Look here, asshole. Just because you're some fancy fairy with a butt full of magic doesn't mean this ain't gonna hurt when I rip it off and shove it where the moonlight never gleams." Vegeta, unable to hold it back, snickered. "Oooh._Catfight _." The fairy shuddered with seething fury, her aura flashing brilliant red sparks as her temper exploded. "Take your filthy hands off me, you human bitch." She yanked her wing out of Bulma's grasp, sucking in a breath as she left behind a sizeable quantity of

fairy dust.

"He's _my _dragon. I _made _him out of a horny little jerk I met long before you were even a tickle in your idiot father's balls." She stalked to Vegeta. "And you, _fucker _…what the hell have you ever done to increase my reputation? Did you go around moaning about how you were bewitched? Ever complain about the incredible power of the fairy who cast the spell? Did you try to find a wizard to un-bewitch you? Tell a minstrel so he could make up a song about me? _Noooooo _…" She smacked him on the nose.

"Nooooo. You had to go off and _be _a fucking dragon. You didn't do a damn thing to make _me _look good, did you?" "Holy fucking shit. It's all about_you _, isn't it? How come the fairy stories never make that clear?" Bulma leaned back against the wall and crossed her arms. "We're supposed to go '_Oooh look, a fairy. Make magic, please, oh powerful fairy_…_grant my wishes…'."_She curled her lip. "And now I realize the rest of the stories are about the problems the frickin' spells cause. And the fairies who caused it." "Of course it's about us." The fairy glared at them both.

"What—you think it's supposed to be about _mortals _? You out of your fucking _mind_? Who the hell would want to read stories about ordinary humans doing ordinary things—like fucking each other's brains out? What a goddamned _snore _…" Vegeta watched the exchange with interest. Temper was doing rather nice things to Bulma's breasts as they rose and fell with each indrawn breath, and her nipples stood out like rosebuds. It was a lyrical thought and he lost himself in it for a moment or two. Then a screech from the fairy brought him back down to earth.

"You are_really _pissing me off." She planted her little fairy stiletto-heeled booties on the stone floor and tossed her hair back over her shoulder. Bulma lifted her chin. "Good. Because you're pissing me off too. And the way I figure it, if you turned Vegeta into this dragon, then you gotta be a helluva lot older than you look." She glanced at Vegeta. "Whaddya think, babe… shall I cut her leg off and count the rings? Find out how old she _really _is?" "Er…" Vegeta wisely left it at that. He hadn't lived all these years without learning one or two things about women.

The fairy had obviously had enough and a nasty gleam entered her gaze as she stared at the naked beauty before her. "Urgh. _Mortals. _I hate all of you, especially the smart-mouthed ones." She lifted her arms and pointed her hands toward Bulma. "_Bitch thou art_…" Vegeta sighed. "Oh I don't think so. Not _again_." There was a fizzle, a snap, a crackle and a definite_pop _. Followed by the faint smell of fried chicken. Vegeta licked his lips. "_Sheeit_. Not enough meat on her to make a decent in-between-meal snack."

"Uh…Vegeta?" Bulma stared at him. "You ate the fairy." "Yep." "You've got fairy dust on your mouth." He grinned. "How about you wipe it off for me? With your breasts?" An odd look came into her eyes and then she smiled. "I can do that." She walked to him, heat radiating off her in waves, cranked up by temper and arousal. His heart thudded at twice its normal rate (although being a dragon, there really were few statistics on acceptable heart rates for his species). It got even faster when two firm breasts pressed into his snout and moved, rubbing tiny beaded nipples over the soft scales around his mouth and nostrils.

"Shit, Bulma…" he shuddered. "Double shit, Vegeta." She rubbed some more. "That feels…spectacular…" He breathed carefully, letting gentle puffs of warm air stroke her skin. "I wish this was my hand." Abreath caressed her belly. "I wish this was my tongue, my mouth…" Bulma parted her legs wide to feel his whispers. "I wish that too." She leaned against him, her hand slicking downwards once more. "I wish your tongue could lick me…play with me…drive me wild right here…" Her fingers dove around her clit into her cunt and she slicked her honey around, the scent coiling up into Vegeta's nostrils and making him dizzy.

"I love you, Vegeta, dragon or not." She closed her eyes and stayed right up against his snout. She was nearing her crest again, fingers moving slowly but inexorably over her clit. "You've always been my friend, shared my life, never let me down. You understand me, who I am, what I want. You've listened. And now…taste me, Vegeta…" A small hand smeared the sweetest moisture around his mouth and Vegeta sucked it between his non-lips. "I love you too, Bulma. I did from the first moment I saw you wrapped up in a blanket. I couldn't help it. You were my destiny."

"I wish…oh lord…I wish…" Bulma's hand found her most erotic places. "I wish I could fuck you, Vegeta. I'm thinking this should be your cock inside me. I want you so bad…" He nudged one breast, carefully raking it with the edge of a scale, loving the shiver that went through her. "Oh…oh…Vegeta—I'm—I'm _coming _—" Bulma's cry rang loud in his ears and he held his breath, awed by the sight of her bowed body arching toward him, barely touching him but dominating his universe as she tensed and closed her eyes.

He awaited her scream and closed his own eyes, wanting to be in her mind, sharing everything with her as she dropped off the highest cliff in the universe into an abyss of delight. There was a moment's brilliance behind his eyelids, some rather odd sensations in his body, a scream from Bulma and then Vegeta felt the air whoosh past him as he fell with her… And landed with a painful thud on her floor.

* * * * *The Ultimate Orgasm and Other Fantasies…

Holy_crap _! There was a _naked man _lying facedown on her floor and moaning. And what a man he was, too. Muscles writhed just beneath his skin, shoulders broader than any knight's shifted as he tried to push himself up and a really nice ass bunched with strength when he finally managed to shove himself to his knees. His hair was darker than night, up high in a flame stile like a crown, his eyes were black as onix jewels, shot between long black lashes. Dark hair furred his chest, circling his flat nipples with little licks of curls.

Bulma blinked. "_Vegeta_?" He breathed in, stood up and staggered a little. Then smiled at her, a smile that was—in the flowery phrases of fairy tales—a vision of sunlight drifting warmly over her body. "Hewwow." "_Aaaargh_." He chuckled. "Just kidding, babe. Honest." He reached out one hand for her, keeping the other firmly on the windowsill. "Hello." "Vegeta? Is it really _you _?" He nodded. "Yep. In the flesh." His face sobered. "Look, if you're not interested in a kind of

pimply-faced dweeb, I'll understand…" Hoookay. This was an "_I gotta pinch myself_" kind of moment. Bulma flapped her mouth for a second or two, trying to form words.

She slapped herself upside the head. He was still thinking of himself as the person he'd been so long ago. Bulma carefully took his hand. "Come here, you." She drew him to the mirror on one side of the room. "_Look_, silly. You're not a pimply-faced dweeb anymore." Standing behind him, Bulma watched his face as it changed with astonishment. He rubbed one hand over his firm jawline and then ran it down his chest to his—his—oh my! Why hadn't she noticed _that_? An extremely hard cock jutted fiercely from a nest of soft black curls, firm and solid and thick—it just begged to be touched and sucked and fondled—it was Bulma's turn to drool. Then she noticed something.

"Vegeta…" He jumped. "_Shit_. It really _is _me." He glanced down. "That's me too. Who'd have thought it?" "Yep. It's you all right." She slid her arms around his waist and hugged him tight. "And I couldn't be happier." She let her hands drift lower. "Now, I know you were a blue dragon and a really nice shade of blue too. So does that explain _these _?" She lifted his cock delicately, exposing his balls, which were—yes, you guessed it—quite _blue_. He laughed and turned around, reaching for her, taking her in his arms and lifting her quite off her feet.

"Nope. That's because I want _you _sweetheart. At least I think it is. Wanting somebody for as long as I've wanted you kinda does that to a guy." He blinked. "Funny. I'm already thinking of myself as a _guy _not a dragon anymore." Bulma wrapped her legs around him, rubbing her pussy against his groin. "You hear me complaining? I want you too. Here. Now. Right this minute if at all possible…" "Everything's possible. _Now _." With a joyful grin Vegeta tumbled them both onto Bulma's bed. It creaked in protest, but they ignored it. "Lord, Vegeta—I want you to fuck me so bad…"

"I wanna fuck you so _good _babe…" He stroked her face. "I wanna do _this _…" Firm lips descended on hers, brushing them at first, learning them, then forcing them apart as his tongue flickered into her mouth. Obviously being a dragon for a century or so teaches one a thing or two about tongue work. Bulma's head swam with the possibilities. He kissed her silly, returning again and again to taste her sweetness. Finally he pulled back. "And then I wanna do _this _…"

It was the tongue thing again, but this time her breasts received the extraordinary attention. He sucked her fiercely then released her, licking around her nipples with joy and enthusiasm. He coiled that amazing piece of flesh around each sensitive bud, squeezing them, releasing them and then taking the whole mound into his mouth once more. She damn near orgasmed just from his skilled titty-play. "Fuck, Vegeta. Where did you learn this stuff?" Bulma rasped out the question in between little panting gasps.

"I've been saving it up for you, honey." Vegeta's tongue wandered down to her navel and played there for a while, making her eyes roll back in her head and her body twang like a harp in the hands of an angel. "Damn, babe. I'm so glad you did." It was her last coherent thought, since Vegeta and his gifted tongue had found her clit. He loved it with

every ounce of skill he'd "saved up" for her, sending her brains into meltdown and her cunt into flash flood stage. She overflowed her banks as he strummed her, shuddering with the intensity of it.

"You taste so good—so sweet—" Vegeta purred the words against her pussy. "I've yearned for this, dreamed of this, ached for this—" The note in his voice made tears well up in Bulma's eyes and she parted her legs even wider, welcoming him home to where they both knew he belonged. Just as she was about to surrender, he reared up above her, holding himself aloft on strongly muscled arms. "_Now_, Bulma. _Now _I claim what is _mine _." And without further ado, Vegeta the Unlucky became Vegeta the Amazingly Fortunate.

He sank himself into Bulma's hot and silky slick cunt, inch by inch, letting them both savor the unique sensation of two ideally suited bodies fucking the daylights out of each other. "Ohhhh…" She groaned, feeling like the typical romance-novel heroine being plundered by the hero. (Which, of course, she was.) His cock filled her, touching all the right spots on the way in, and also touching them on the way out again—and repeating as necessary.

He had the requisite strength in his hips and thighs to hammer into her cunt over and over, thudding against her clit in precisely the right way so as to ensure her maximum pleasure. It was, all things considered, the most magnificent orgasm that any two lovers had ever experienced in any fairy tale—_ever_. And when it rolled over them—simultaneously of course—they both shrieked with ecstasy, shattering a small glass next to the bed and sending a flock of sparrows off on an early migration.

Bulma's body writhed out of her control, clutching at Vegeta's cock like a warrior's fist around a sword hilt. She drained him, milked him, pulled his come out from his balls, his hips and probably the backs of his heels. She was drowning in him, floating with him and loving him all at once and from the expression she glimpsed on his face he was right there with her. Little lights sparkled around the edges of her vision and she fought for breath as the orgasms continued to roll over her, shattering her with their strength.

All good heroines have at _least _two, if not more. And Vegeta _had _been waiting a hell of a long time for this one magnificent moment… Vegeta moaned and thrust again, hitting Bulma's G-spot perfectly and knocking her into one more orgasm. He stayed there this time, cock tucked neatly up against her womb, snuggled so close not even their sweat could do more than trickle weakly over them both. And he sighed—a gust of sated happiness that brought a weak smile to the only muscles left on Bulma that worked—her face.

"Holy fucking shit." Vegeta's head dipped and he slowly lowered himself onto Bulma. "Holy _mother fucking _shit." "Yeah." As far as romantic post-coital dialogue went, it left something to be desired. But it did accurately reflect Bulma's state of mind at that point. She'd been screwed to the max by the man she loved. Now that he was a man and a dragon no more. And it had been the most stupendous moment of her life up to now.

A thought occurred to her. "Hey Vegeta…" "_Urghlphlmpfff_." He subsided weakly and slithered off her, his cock popping free of her pussy with a sound that was distinctly sad. "You're not going to become a dragon again, are you?" "_Grrrroooowwwlll_." He nipped her neck. "Why? You want me back as a dragon?" "No, no, not that. I like you just the way you are, thanks." Thoughtfully she cupped his balls, rolling them around absently and making Vegeta blink. "It's just that if we're gonna get married then I figure I should know what to expect. Don't you?" He watched her intensely. Fondling a guy's balls is a good way to make sure he's paying attention, as Bulma discovered at that moment.

"We're getting married?" Her fingers tightened a little, and Vegeta immediately nodded. "Of _course _we're getting married. Silly me." His brow furrowed. "Although how the hell you're gonna tell your father that you're marrying a low-born twit unlucky enough to get himself bewitched for a century or so, I have no frickin' clue." He stared at her hopefully. "Yeah." She stared at the ceiling, idly counting the slabs of marble. "Pity you don't have land or something. Father is real impressed with a good land deal."

Vegeta yawned and carefully removed his balls from her hand. "How does he feel about cash up-front?" "Huh?" Bulma twisted her head on Vegeta's shoulder so that she could look at him. "Cash." He dropped a kiss on her head and pulled some of her hair out from between his teeth. "You know. Coin of the realm. That sort of stuff." "But… but… how… what…" Bulma stuttered helplessly. "You know, sweetheart, you have to work on your language skills before the kids arrive. We don't want 'em stuttering…" The grin he gave her would've melted the panties off a stone statue—and Bulma wasn't made of stone.

"God I love you." She tweaked his nipple with her lips, laughing as he groaned. "Now what's this about cash?" Vegeta tucked one arm under his head. "Dragons receive a stipend you know. Something in the negotiated contract that goes back donkey's years. Of course, we can't exactly whip down to the mall and spend it, so it just goes into a retirement account, 401K or whatever, and accrues interest. This year I think it's prime rate plus about five points or so."

Bulma was quiet for a few moments. "So, if I understand you correctly, you've been receiving money for over a hundred _years? _And it's been accruing interest for over a _hundred years _?" "Yep." Vegeta looked smug. "Vegeta, if you don't mind my asking, how much _was _this stipend?" "Well…" Vegeta looked a bit embarrassed. "You have to remember that this contract was negotiated back when dragons had to put it all on the line on a daily basis. Formation flying is risky enough, but when you throw in the bad witches, nasty elf uprisings, a virtuous and armed saint or two and other things dragons had to deal with—there were a lot of_in the line of duty _type injuries. And even a few fatalities." He shook his head. "Compensation had to reflect the level of risk. We had no health insurance_per se _…just a café plan."

Bulma swallowed. "How much?" Vegeta named a sum that made her head swim. "You're kidding, right?" "Nope." He hugged her close. "I reckon by now I should have just about enough to do what I want with. And what I want—is you. By my side. For ever." "Awww." Once more tears blurred Bulma's vision. "I want that too. And I want your babies. Lots of 'em. Maybe even a few sons." She giggled. "That would make my father look like a real idiot. More than

he does already."

"So you think he'll go for cash?" Vegeta sounded hopeful "To get rid of a daughter? He'll probably throw in the castle as well for that kind of money." She snorted. "And don't think I'm going to let you offer all that, either. I got an A plus in _Negotiation _class, ya know." "I know." Vegeta tickled her ear with his tongue. "I know everything you did in school. I was there with you, remember?" "All I remember was the night you sent me to heaven. With this…" She carefully turned her head and bit down on his tongue.

"Aargh wffl ooo." "I love you too." She sucked on it, pulling it deeply into the cavern of her mouth and dueling with it until Vegeta responded by grasping her buttocks and pulling her on top of him. A fingertip brushed up between her cheeks, grazing her ass and making her shiver. Finally their lips parted and Vegeta grinned. "Wanna try page fifty-seven?" Bulma didn't even need to look. Her answer was immediate. "Sure."

Epilogue

And yeah, they both lived…etcetera, etcetera… So Princess Bulma was granted permission to marry Vegeta the Amazingly Fortunate by her father, the King. Of course, this was _after _he'd discovered that Vegeta's assets exceeded the amount currently in the Royal Treasury by a factor of at least five. And yes, they both lived happily ever after. Although there was no castle, elegant estate or rose-covered cottage with a white picket fence involved. They decided to build a rather nice Colonial-style split-level home on a nearby hill along with a factory, which produced small, portable devices on which people could write their own fairy tales.

And also communicate with others, receive speedy mails, download the latest music by their favorite minstrels and keep on top of the latest jousting scores. All of which made Bulma and Vegeta even richer and resulted in the King finally abdicating the throne in favor of daughter number four—the really _gorgeous _one—who had married a prince from the next-Shire-but-one. He was also gorgeous, and together they generated vast amounts of additional tourist income simply by swanning around in court couture and waving from moving vehicles and the occasional balcony.

The tabloid newspapers made megastars out of them, the Princess developed her own line of perfume, and the Prince raised a prize-winning breed of racehorses. They happily took over the castle, converting most of it to a convention center and gambling casino, and leaving the rest as guest rooms for the crowds of other princesses who invariably came to visit for the holidays.

Bulma and Vegeta watched it all with amused grins and happy hearts. And—after the children arrived (all five of 'em)—dark circles under their eyes. The most funny part was that all her sister give until now only girls… but bulma give birth a healty boy named trunlks… that was beautiful like her mother but strong like his father the king loved him but the kid didn't like him not even a bit… he only liked to visit the castle for her grandmother the queen, the was bra, born, beutifull like her mother… another boy named gear, a girls named Kristal, and a boy named shield…

And the dragons? Well, with Vegeta's vast wealth, it was quite easy for him to purchase a nice piece of land downwind of the villages and build a very luxurious spa designed specifically to meet the needs of dragons.

Especially _female _dragons. He had the best scientists create a moisturizer and gleam enhancer guaranteed to work on even the roughest of scales, thus ensuring that within months a couple of curious female dragons arrived to suss out the new digs. The male dragons couldn't believe their luck, soaked in the tubs a lot, oiled up their wings and found—to their joy—that the females responded with giggles and little flutters of their nostrils. Word soon got out and a thriving dragon community developed, unhindered (mostly) by human intervention.

When little dragon eggs arrived, everybody—including the humans—was just tickled to bits. Yes, Bulma and Vegeta had truly found the happy ending they sought—and so richly deserved. The fairy? Well, she got what she deserved too. She got eaten—which, come to think of it, was an unfulfilled desire that started this whole tale off in the first place. Thus proving conclusively that life is circular in motion, it doesn't hurt to eat a fairy, and love can turn even the fiercest dragon into a damn good fuck.

6


End file.
